The Prodigal Son
by Ridire Dorcha
Summary: It's 6 ABY; two years after the destruction of Death Star II. The Galactic Empire is falling and New Republic is making every effort to erase what's left from the galaxy. Smuggler Kal Stryfe is meeting with holonet investigative journalist Dak Fareel in a bar at a port in Coruscant to talk about a very important job. Seems the Empire isn't quite dead, nor is Kal's son.


Smoke from my cigarra rises into the already lingering smoke cloud above, as I survey the crowds of the Spacer's Lounge. My usual table is set deep into the lounge area, just up from the stage. I've always been a fan of the band that headlines most nights here. Some new Bith musicians play a smooth, mid-tempo tune and the tastefully clad Twi'lek dancers sway provocatively on stage. A few younger travelers have fallen under the spell of their dances, sitting in the lounge chairs whooping and whistling for more. This isn't the kind of club they're looking for, but they aren't quite deep enough into the city for the kinds of club they're looking for. A Trandoshan bouncer makes his way over to settle the rowdy teens down.

Other bouncers stand in the corner monitoring the most recent influx of patrons, two of them focus on a heavily armed Mandalorian who is walking through the door. In most cantinas on Coruscant, you would have to check your weapons at the door, not here; not at the Space Lounge. Granted the cantinas deep in the ecumenopolis are on rougher blocks, it's dangerous for those roughnecks to be armed while drunk. On the other hand, some species that find themselves roaming those streets are more dangerous unarmed than wielding a blaster.

Over the crowds, I see a wookiee roam into the lounge. I can see the gigantic walking carpet over the masses as he makes his way across the room through the aisles, stops at the bar, and leans in to order a drink. The bartender looks my way and points; the wook turns my direction and nods. Someone is looking for me. I think back to every "secret" meeting I've ever had in bars and cantinas. This definitely wouldn't be the first time and enforcer came in first to make sure it wasn't a trap, but I must say I wasn't expecting it this time.

The towering hulk of hair makes his was to my table and takes a seat, I raise my hand in the direction of a Twi'Lek waitress and then meet the eyes of the enforcer now seated in front of me. The waitress returns with my Gralish liqueur and takes my empty glass. I take one last drag of my cigarra, then put it out on the tray next to the wall. The wook glares silently at me as I take my time to truly acknowledge his presence. Wookiees are a gentle, but impatient race, full of rage from injustices past. I know it's not wise to press the issue with an unfamiliar wookiee, you never know if he/she is a madclaw, but his master needed me or else he wouldn't be here.

I take a sip of my drink and then smirk his direction. "I know you're just the muscle, but if you're here to intimidate me, think again. Your master sought me out, not the other way around." A growl in Shriiwook was returned, "Master? You arrogant humans think that all wookiees who work with someone off the homeworld owe a life debt to someone?"

Having spent some time on Kashyyyk, I have a decent understanding of the wookiee's native tongue. I laugh it off, "Relax, it was just a joke. I've been in too many tight situations to take things so seriously. No need to get up in arms about this. I'm a smuggler, not a bounty hunter. Order a drink, my treat." He declines, pulls out a communicator, then presses a button to signal someone, most likely the person I'm supposed to meet. All this cloak and dagger nonsense, as if the Galactic Empire still had its power, it's laughable really. A young man walks through the door and looks around the room for his companion. He carries himself with confidence, but keeps a wary eye on his surroundings while making his way to the table, as if the entire city were out to get him. How did this kid survive as a journalist during the reign of the Emperor?

He sits down uneasily; then nearly jumps out his seat when a waitress asks him what he'd like to drink. So much for that confidence. He mumbles something about an Adumari beer. I take the silence between his order and his first words to me as an opportunity to size him up.

The kid looks like he couldn't be older than 20, probably some greenhorn looking to make it big with a story from the seedy underbelly of the New Republic. With the fledgling government trying to clean up all the remaining Imperials and rebuild the war-torn systems, those of us more opportunistic entrepreneurs have been able to make a comfortable living thanks to more lax security checks. Who better to give someone the inside scoop on the comings and goings of the smuggling underworld than the best?

That'd be me, Kal Stryfe. Unlike most smugglers these days, I control my own destiny. Too many smugglers now can't stray too far from their masters' beck and call; the leash is too short. The Hutts own the smuggling game in most systems and they hate me for owning my own business. It's hard to bargain with someone you don't own, even for a Hutt. I suspect this is why the kid has been in contact with me.

His drink finally makes it to him and he drink down a quarter of it before he finally speaks. "You're Kalrain Stryfe?"

"Kal, and yeah, that'd be me."

He takes a deep breath and relaxes a bit, drinks from his beer again and then signals for the waitress to bring two more. I'm not an impatient person, but I'm curious as to what exactly this kid wants. I clear my throat politely in attempt to get his mind on task, but he keeps looking down at his drink nervously. He looks back at the door, I assume to see if he had been followed, then takes yet another deep breath.

"Not to be rude, but if this isn't going anywhere, I could be playing pazaak with the mayor right now. I beat him out of his newest freighter last night and he wants a chance to win it back before I leave the system."

Still silence from the kid across from me, so I just sit back and pull out another cigarra. I'll give it another few minutes, then I'm off to take more credits from the mayor. I pull out the light from my jacket pocket and begin to light my smoke when a furry hand reaches up and grabs the cigarra from my hand. The wookiee shakes his head and hands me the smoke to me to put back in my pocket. As the Twi'lek returns with two more beers, I'm still staring at the wook with an uncertain stare.

"Forgive Katkazza. His father is enslaved by a rashallo farmer on Haruun Kal. He hates smoking as a result." The wookiee nodded in agreement.

"Understandable, I suppose. But next time, tell me. No need to grabbing things out of my hands." Again the wookiee nodded. "Now that you have had a drink and had some time to calm down, care to tell me why I'm here? Before we do that, tell me who you are"

"I'm looking for someone…" A cryptic answer, but what can I expect from this kid?

"Okay, and I'm looking for a name..."

"Dak… Dak Fareel." He said quietly.

"So what are we looking for Dak?"

"I'm looking for someone to transport two people to the Brentaal system." He says with a bit more volume.

"I don't know what you've heard, kid, but human trafficking isn't something I do. I steer clear of trafficking people, but that doesn't mean I don't have contac-"

"No! Nothing illegal… Just me and Katkazza." That certainly sounds familiar. I remember hearing about the captain of the Millennium Falcon running into some issue with the same type of offer.

"I'm a smuggler kid, legalities aren't exactly my concern. I might just be a scoundrel, but that doesn't mean I don't have my morals. What's the purpose of this trip?" I ask with some reservation.

"I'm chasing a story. I don't think the New Republic is free of the Empire's influence. There have been rumors out of Brentaal IV that there's something big going on in the system. I'm willing to pay you 15,000 credits for passage there and back as well as your services between arrival and departure."

I think on the offer for a moment. 15,000 credits for a trip to Brentaal isn't something one can easily pass up. It's not exactly a dangerous route. "Define 'services'," I respond.

"How are you with a blaster?" He says without hesitation.

Again, I take a few moments to think. I was a hell of a gunslinger in my younger days. "Kid, I'm not exactly the youngest spacer on this planet and I'm far from a mercenary. Same for my co-pilot. Now I'm not turning down the offer, I'm just saying there's the price you pay for smugglers and then there's the price you pay for hired guns. Make it 25,000 and you have yourself a ship."

"25,000? I can't do 25. I can do 20."

"It's 25 or no dice." I take swallow the last drink of my liqueur, and glance at Katkazza as he leans in to listen to Dak talk it out. He shakes his head in disapproval.

"20,000, that's the best I can do."

I laugh, "Kid, don't try to con a conman. If you can get twenty-two five, what's another 5000?"

"It never hurts to have some money on hand to deal with corrupt officials. That 5000 could go to a few bribes for information. Besides, I haven't told you who I'm looking for yet."

"You seemed to be looking for me." I'm slightly confused.

"No, I know you'll take the 20,000. Once I got in contact with you, I was no longer looking for you. It's the person we are now looking for that will make you take the job." He says with a pained expression on his face.

"Okay then, who are we looking for?"

"Jordal Stryfe. Your son…"


End file.
